


Ride the Storm

by Ramzes



Series: Dragons Bend the Storm to Them [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, More like different AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: Rhaelle Targaryen, grandmother to the new king, is old but still ready to brave any storm come her way. A series of oneshots.





	1. Robert

The ship could not enter the port – there were too many vessels as it was and this one was big enough to meddle with the normal use of the port by anyone else, let alone the fact that once it entered, it would have too little time for maneuvering. Rhaelle Targaryen, granddaughter, daughter, sister, and now grandmother to kings, stood on the deck, looking covertly at her grandson. Stannis' love for ships and the sea life was well known, but was he truly prepared for being given a command of a rank such as this one? This was only a small part of the fleet he would be heading after never having assumed the command of anything bigger than a fishing ship. His face betrayed nothing but Rhaelle knew he was not ready for such a responsibility – and she knew that he knew it as well.

Before he could feel her eyes on him, she looked away, to the huge building soaring towards the sky, and her heart started beating faster which surprised her. In over forty years, she had never dreamed of King's Landing with anything resembling homesickness. The fondness had been there, yes, but not this deep. She had built her happiness elsewhere despite her unwillingness to live there. And yet she recognized the Red Keep, Baelor's Sept, the sharp silhouette of Visenya's Hill with deep feeling that resonated within her. She had come here many times by sea and she had never experienced anything like this. Never. What was going on with her?

They climbed down into a boat, Stannis wisely refraining from suggesting to lower her into a net. Both of them – and their companions – were now recovered enough for their arms to hold tight onto the ropes and when she seated herself in the boat, she was not even tired.

The quay was overcrowded and her first thought was that something had gone wrong again. That these men and women, most of them old, were waiting for some news to arrive by sea but no…

"Grandmother, this throng is because of you, it seems," Stannis said. "I hear _Princess Rhaelle_ and _King Aegon_ repeated often."

She listened intently and he was right. These old people who had recently suffered a horror had made it here to see the daughter of the King beloved by the smallfolk. As the boat drew closer to the shore, Rhaelle recognized more than a few of the now old servant-maids at her parents' court. She found it hard to contain her sudden turmoil but it was equally hard to reach the litter waiting for her because from all around, hands were reaching for her, trying to touch her or at least her clothes before the gold cloaks sent to escort them formed a cordon keeping the men and women away. This was their duty and she did not try to prevent this. When one of them tried clumsily to close the curtains of her litter, though, she refused. This was not part of her duty and her suspicious mind immediately leapt to the thought that there was something that they were trying to hide from her.

They were trying to hide everything from her. Even if she had stayed curtained off like a docile little old lady, the silence would have warned her. No street vendors praising their goods. No screams after urchins who had just nicked someone's purse. No clatter of swords against armour save for the one coming from her own guards. No friendly exchanges between people who had met in the street and come to stay.

"What have they done?" Rhaelle asked angrily and her lady companions recoiled at the low rumble of her voice. Somehow, in her learning to adapt to Storm's End, she had taken some of Lord Lyonel's manners as well. "What have they done to my city?"

The streets were empty, except for the burly men scrubbing away what looked like stains of pools – pools! – of blood. And the Silent Sisters. They were everywhere, coming in and out, and when the road started weaving between less official and more residential parts of the city, Rhaelle could hear the wailing, see the black cloths hanging from windows and terraces. It seemed to her that there was not a house in which there was not someone to mourn.

"Curse be upon you, Tywin Lannister!" an old woman was wailing, tearing both her clothes and her hair out. Her eyes were red and dried up already, her face bloated with past weeping. "My husband died at the Stepstones and where are my two sons now? Curse be upon you, Lannister butcher, I have no tears left…"

Rhaelle heard the sound of a sword being taken out. "No!" she screamed and one of the gold cloaks was quick enough to understand what she meant and caught his comrade's hand. "We don't kill people for telling the truth," she said coldly. "If Lord Lannister has any problem with your inactions, refer him to me."

She reached in her purse for some coin and realized that the ones she had were too big – someone bigger than the poor woman would take them from her in an instant. One of her ladies produced some copper ones and a gold cloak gave him to the woman who looked up at Rhaelle with no gratitude in her eyes.

In the Red Keep, she was met by laughter and vibrant life, a contrast that only fueled her rage. The situation did not improve when near the second gate, she met Tywin Lannister himself, immaculately dressed and not bothered by the slightest pangs of conscience… or anyone around. Indeed, he strode as if he owned the world or at least the Red Keep, although he at least had the decency to bow deeply when he saw her. Rhaelle felt a flicker of dark delight at the opportunity to walk straight past him without acknowledging him in any way.

His Grace awaited them, they were informed; somewhat to Rhaelle's relief, he had chosen the chamber of the Small Council, sans the Council. She did not know how she would feel when she saw her grandson in the seat she had seen so many men of her blood sit. So many Targaryen men. And despite her feeling of justice finally having been served for her House, in a way, she could not shake another feeling – a dark premonition because she was not sure that Robert had what was needed in a King. In fact, she was sure that he did not have it – and she was not entirely sure he could be taught it. Still, she felt profound satisfaction at seeing the stag banners hanging all over the place despite the discomfort the very newness of it gave her.

The shock on Robert's face when he came to greet them jolted her to sharp awareness how they must both be looking. In Storm's End, she had lost any idea of just what a terrifying picture they made – it was not as if she had anyone not starving to compare to. "By the Seven," he whispered. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said, giving him a quick look. The wound that she heard about still kept his right arm rigid but this would pass, she realized with great relief. How had he been able to keep fighting with this arm and _win_? Change the world? "I see you're better as well. I'm glad to see it."

He nodded. "It was a quick thing. But the two of you… Is Renly alive?" he suddenly asked and his face changed somewhat. Rhaelle wanted to slap him. He had not meant to sound this uncaring – in fact, he had spoken only because he cared but this way of saying the first thing occurring to him, though appealing to some people, wore on her when a child reached their, say, tenth nameday. And in a King, it was unforgivable.

Of course, Stannis was bound to take this the wrong way. As an insult to himself, namely. "Why shouldn't he be?" he asked, bristling.

"Because the two of you look like corpses, that's why!" Robert retorted. "Did you eat before coming to me? I said I wanted to see you immediately and not that I wanted to starve you."

"We aren't hungry," Rhaelle said quickly before Stannis could retaliate. Couldn't these two stay an hour in each other's company without quarreling? Just an hour? But it was true, they had eaten before disembarking and despite Robert's obvious determination to feed them some more, it would be no use if they returned it. A normal portion was too much for them now, as Rhaelle had learned the hard way the day after Eddard Stark's arrival.

"I'm glad to see the two of you," Robert said when they all took a seat. "It's been a nightmare here."

"I saw," Rhaelle said. "But I also saw the master of this nightmare walk around with his head held high."

Robert looked uncomfortable. "Yes, about this…"

" _Yes_ what?" she demanded.

"He became our ally at the end. We can hardly afford to alienate the westerlands. We've experienced enough divisions already."

Rhaelle drew a deep breath to compose herself. "Do you realize that by letting him walk around completely unpunished and preening, as if he's… as if he's… as if he is Aemon the Dragonknight casts a shadow over your own honour? By the gods, Robert, the man had half of the people in King's Landing put to the knife or raped!"

"Now, let's not exaggerate…" he said, his awkwardness with the situation becoming more visible. "It's hardly half of the people…"

"A third, then!" Rhaelle conceded. "What does this change? Only the Great Spring Sickness has ever wrought more death outside of a war!"

"We _were_ in a war," he reminded her.

She waved this away with an impatient hand. "With unarmed people? With peaceful traders? With women and children? Is this why you killed Elia of Dorne and her children?"

"I didn't kill them!" he shouted, his face turning dark and thunderous. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, he lost control.

"I would have thought else if your reaction to their bodies is something to go by," she snapped back. "Now that I know war on women and children is just like war on armed men…" She gave his arm a pointed look. "It makes sense."

"You think I wanted this?" he asked, incredulous. "You think I let Lannister know that the way to my good graces was to have this woman and her children murdered – and in such a way? Do you think, then, that I gave the order to have her raped before her death – why wouldn't you if you believe me capable of the other thing?"

"Did you?" she asked and he gave her a blank look before understanding dawned upon him and he landed on the table a fist that immediately started bleeding.

"No! To the seven hells, I didn't! I might have gotten… carried away with my words because I was still so angry with Rhaegar but I would have never let anything happen to them, never!"

"As strange as it sounds, I'm inclined to believe you," Rhaelle said. "But no one else will. Not if Tywin Lannister proceeds to be part of your court and… don't tell me you want to put him on the Small Council, will you?" she pleaded, horrified.

His discomfort returns. "I have no such intentions," he said, "despite Jon's insistence that I …"

 _Ah, I see,_ Rhaelle thought. Jon Arryn! _What a fool I was. W_ hy had she not thought of the one who enjoyed the greatest influence upon Robert and whose honour was as self-serving as it was vaunted? Of course Jon Arryn would only see the practical uses of having Tywin Lannister on their side. Rhaelle, though, could see the losses – starting with the loss of faith in the very foundation of Robert's throne. He might enjoy the support of a powerful lord but the world would see it as rewarding a murderer and a slaughterer – just as it was. But it was not just what the world would think. Deep in her Targaryen bones, dragon bones, First Men bones, Rhaelle felt that a reign starting with neglected blood of innocents could not end in any other way but tragedy. This first wrong would lead Robert to another, until he lost the way and had no light to guide him through and only Jon Arryn's voice to steer him further down the path of convenient overlooking and forgetting _. I have to deal with Jon Arryn first thing of all,_ she thought. _Neutralize Arryn, and Lannister will fall on his own._ She could hear the Lord of the Vale's voice in Robert's words but underneath, he was not comfortable with what he was allowing to happen. Without Jon Arryn's influence, he would not let Tywin Lannister become something like a damned self-proclaimed hero!

It would not happen. Not as long as Rhaelle drew breath.

 


	2. Elia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're all a great inspiration!

Rhaelle had long ago given up on her romantic ideas of knightly virtues and makings… always connected to the sharpness and swiftness of one's sword, it seemed. The very day her brother had cowered from meeting an aging man and instead sent Ser Duncan the Tall, a man in his prime, to make sure that they won. Of course, Rhaelle could see the wisdom of this decision, knew that little would have been resolved if Lord Lyonel had killed Duncan as he undoubtedly would have but the fact that it was a statesmanlike decision did not make it a knightly one. Duncan had offended, the Lord Captain Commander had fought instead of him, and then she had been sent to pay the price, again instead of him. Whatever notions she had from the tales her mother and nursemaid said had died pretty fast and later, life had shown her nothing to dissuade her from this conviction, so the old woman was surprised at the curiosity she was looking at the man standing guard with. Arthur Dayne, recently returned from the Red Mountains, did not look like a man who had been in Dorne at all. Rhaelle could see that his fair skin turned quite dark in the sun – how else could he survive in his homeland? – and very faint paler streaks in his silver hair showed that a very long time ago, he had been sunkissed. In the semi-darkness of the hallway, the purple of his eyes looked darker and quite nice but Rhaelle remembered this same purple in his grandfather and namesake's tanned face. In the first Arthur's face, these eyes had been true flames of the most striking colour. He was tall and muscular enough but nothing extraordinary. Why had she expected something extraordinary anyway?

The Sword of the Morning. Her nursemaid had been Dornish.

He looked away immediately but not before Rhaelle noticed the awe on his face. Although they had seen each other at Harrenhall, it had been from afar – no one had wanted to aggravate Aerys' suspicions further, so she did not know him at all.

"What is it, Ser?" she asked, not kindly but not impolitely either.

"Forgive me, my lady. You look like my lady grandmother used to, in my memories."

" _Aunt Rhae, do you think that at my wedding, I'll be as beautiful as you are?"_

One of her first memories. The question that had come back at the time she and Ormund had made their vows. Had she been the same glorious bride as Rhae had been at her wedding to Arthur Dayne?

"Yes," she said. "I expect that I do."

Why had Robert not tried to kill him immediately? She had expected that she'd have a hard time talking her grandson out of it, yet here Arthur Dayne stood, guarding Rhaegar's abandoned wife and forsaken heir – nothing could convince Rhaelle that the man had not been ready to forfeit their lives to Aerys' whims if that meant the help of Dorne would be there – not even two days after his return, a disgraced Lyanna Stark being led by a different group and kept out of the Red Keep.

She nodded and he removed himself, his eyes going to her belt as if he was looking for a dagger. Rhaelle laughed. "Aren't you a little late with your defence?" she asked. "Or have you become so used of guarding that girl from the people who thought they were saving her that you now expect that _I_ would kill a babe when my grandson could have had arranged easily enough in the disarray of his arrival, like some other people tried?"

Shame bloomed scarlet on his cheeks. She pushed the door and entered.

At first, she did not see anyone. Then, she heard Elia Martell before she saw her.

"Sleep, my sweet boy, the night is clear; close your eyes, dear one, Mama is here…"

Tears came to Rhaelle's eyes quite unbidden. She had inherited her Dornish nursemaid from her father and Steffon had inherited her later on. How often had she heard this lullaby? For a moment, the Red Keep and the faint smell of ashes that lingered despite their best efforts, this room and this woman stopped existing for her. The nursery at Storm's End and Naiyna singing the lullaby to Rhaelle's own boy were all there was.

Over time, the pain had lost its edge and become dull, a pale shadow dimming her joy of life so persistently that she no longer noticed it. Except when it intensified. In certain moments. When Robert inclined his head in a particular way and laughed. Or when Elia Martell sang this lullaby, out of sight and thus making room for memories Rhaelle had learned to suppress.

The windows were thrown wide open and when Rhaelle finally saw the Dornish princess in a chair at the far end of the room, she only spotted the two heads, one dark and one pale, under the heavy furs meant to keep them warm as the harsh wind relieved the persistent smell of fire. Rhaelle shuddered to think what would have happened if Aerys had succeeded in putting his plan to burn the entire castle in motion.

The child stirred; adjusting him, Elia looked up and startled.

"I've come with peace," Rhaelle said quickly. "Would you mind if I close these?" she asked and Elia shrugged.

"As you wish."

When Rhaelle turned back, she saw that Elia had moved over to put her sleeping son in bed. Her belly stuck out quite obviously. It was true, then. Rhaegar had gotten her with child before he left for the Trident. Rhaelle swallowed her pity because she could say it would be unwelcome – she could see that in every line of Elia's pale, gaunt face.

"My lady, please take a seat."

Rhaelle sat where Elia indicated and adjusted her skirts. The Dornish princess ordered some refreshment and asked a few questions about the advancement of the repairs of the city. The house for unwed mothers, in particular. "I heard it has taken a bad fire…"

"For someone closeted in here, you seem to know quite a lot about the events in the city," Rhaelle said, a little surprised.

Elia shrugged, taking a dainty sip of her tea. "I'm closeted in here and guarded, so I would not run," she said. "No one takes any interest in my charities. In fact, given the expenses surrounding any change of the regime, the new King is likely relieved that I can help out some."

_No,_ Rhaelle thought, _Jon Arryn is._ The influence the man wielded over Robert was starting to grate on her nerves but she could nor deny that the man had a good head on his shoulders.

Silence descended; making some conversation of little importance over the repairs and building good sleeping habits in one's babes, Rhaelle wondered when Elia Martell would realize that she would not win this little battle of wills. Soon, courtesy would be observed to the end and then, under normal circumstances, the visitor would have told the Princess of Dragonstone what had urged her to come here. Just a year ago, it would have unfolded just this way; now. Elia finally accepted that she was in the weaker position here and asked reluctantly, "Did they tell you about… about the match?"

"Yes," Rhaelle replied. "They did."

She did not mention that the idea had been her very own. Jon Arryn had pressed for Cersei Lannister as a better option which could bring them healing and the friendship of the West; Rhaelle was on the opinion that letting a bear heal something for you would only lead to a vital organ being torn to shreds in the long run.

"Why do they want me?" Elia asked. "I'm much older than your grandson."

Rhaelle gave her a look of consideration. "I wouldn't exactly call you an old crone. And you're of proven – err, currently _proving_ fertility."

Suddenly, Elia burst out laughing and laughed so hard that Rhaelle thought she would wake Aegon for sure. She laughed and laughed until tears started pouring down her cheeks and she could no longer take breath. Rhaelle silently pushed a goblet of water towards her. "Here."

"Thank you," Elia managed. "Yes, you can say I'm quite fecund. Still, there is no guarantee I'll be able to give King Robert an heir. This is going to be my third time in the birthing bed in three years. This takes toll."

Rhaelle shrugged. "Why, he's going to wait until you recover, of course. And even if you don't give us any heirs, it isn't as I lack grandsons to take the throne after Robert." She leaned forward. "I want the stain of this sack washed," she said candidly. "I want Robert to be seen as the good and just king who did justice to the wife Rhaegar mistreated. I don't want to have his reign start by rewarding the butcher who half-destroyed King's Landing. I want to reattach the ties binding us to Dorne. And you're my best way to achieve it. You managed to survive in a court that hated you, with your husband all but making a red dot out of you for everyone willing to shoot at. I know some other things about you as well. I do believe you'll make a great Queen of peace and fresh start."

Elia did not look thrilled with the exalted position offered to her. 'And one who will be even more invested in King Robert's success than you because each sniff of failure might bring suspicion and danger to my children, I suppose?"

Rhaelle smiled, delighted that she had been understood. "Precisely! You keep your end of the bargain, your children are safe in Dorne. Does this not look pleasing to you?"

"More than the Wall and the motherhouse, for sure," Elia sighed. Rhaelle could see the suspicions running behind her hooded black eyes, the realization that Rhaelle wanted to make her a pawn that she, Rhaelle, could exploit… She did not mind. Over time, Elia would realize that Rhaelle had no aspirations to grab a position belonging to the King's wife. She would be content with her own. But between Elia Martell, motivated more than anyone to keep Robert under her influence, and Rhaelle who wanted the best for her House and her grandsons, this dream of hers to leave a golden mark through her offspring might actually come true. She extended her hand.

"Then, may I tell Robert that you have made your mind?"

Elia was a little pale but determined. Her hand was very cold, her handshake, very firm. "Yes, you may."

"Very well. I expect that by the end of the day, you'll be allowed to leave the Red Keep. Guarded and without the children, of course, but you'll be allowed to leave."

Elia nodded. "Thank you."

"Can I do something for you?"

"Yes," Elia said immediately. "Get Ser Arthur out of here. Replace him with someone else. I don't want to see his face each time this door opens."

Now, now, this was interesting! Rhaelle had been assuming that Elia had wanted a friendly face close by and a guard she could trust… but now, it looked that no one had bothered to ask about her opinion. Or if they had, they had used this knowledge to punish Ser Arthur. All of a sudden, things became a little clearer in Rhaelle's mind. After all, Robert could only kill Arthur Dayne once.

"Do you want to tell him in person?" she asked. "A queen is entitled to choose which guard not to see."

But the look that Elia gave her was so weary that worry shot through Rhaelle's veins. The young woman had already taken much more than a woman could stand, much less one with child. "No," she said indifferently. "I don't. Just removing him will be enough. Thank you."

"How far along are you?" Rhaelle asked.

"In my sixth moon."

"Very well. I'll send you a maester enjoying my full trust, then."

"I'd love this," Elia replied and in the brief meeting of their eyes, they both knew that their minds worked in a similar pattern in more than one way.

 


	3. Rhaella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Once again, I'd like to remind you that this is a series of oneshots, so this "chapter" is situated in a different AU than the last one. Read on your own peril!

Unlike many Targaryens, Rhaelle had never lived at Dragonstone – it had been her uncle Daeron's seat first and then, when it had passed to Duncan, he had been too young to assume the seat or rather, the responsibilities that came with it.

When Jaehaerys had come into possession, she had long been living at Storm's End and besides, she had never wished to set a foot there. She had, of course, for it was a place where Targaryens went from time to time and she could not avoid it entirely but she had never warmed up to the cold place that had people live with and within dragons and spoke to her of glory and hopes long gone, as dead as the volcano that only released smoke from time to time.

Her current situation did little to change this – at first, she had been scared and now, having ascertained where she was being led, her anger did not abate because they were wasting precious time and starting needless rumours.

The captain of the boat who had received her from the captain of the ship that had seized her own rose and held out a hand. "Can you manage?" he asked dubiously and Rhaelle huffed. Captains of fisher boats could be as young as twenty – and this one looked not a day older than fifteen. She looked ancient to him, surely.

"I've been sailing around on ships long before you were even a sparkle in your parents' eyes, lad," she said curtly. He shifted his weight. Rhaelle had the feeling that he'd be vastly relieved once he deposited her on the bigger vessel that they were now standing under.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, surprised. "Don't tell me that the head of all those ships is going to waste his time with an old woman, and in the middle of the night at this?"

The men walking at either side of her shared a look. Their captive seemed too calm for… well, a captive.

Rhaelle looked at the unfurling dawn, as pale and colourless as everything about this island, and regretted that he would have to rise so early for her sake. On the other hand, early rising had never killed anybody. Even Robert had survived, the few times he had been forced to do it.

"Wait here," one of the men who had arrived to accompany them said and entered the cabin. Rhaelle was left waiting and shaking in the harsh wind as a pale wintry sun made a tentative attempts to assert its rights. The sea was practically invisible under the swarm of ships covering it, their bows and masts bristled up like a plain of weapons. An armoury. Once again, Rhaelle was reminded that they were in a war and what a brittle thing life was.

The door opened and she was finally ushered into the cabin where the head of this fleet waited to deal with the captured spy. His eyes widened but only a little. Other than this, he kept his calm. "So, we were talking about a suspicious ship trying to wind its way between us and reach the island?" he asked. "Looks like a mistake was made."

"It wasn't," Rhaelle spoke but he did not address her at all. Naturally! He had an ax to grind with the men he thought incompetent. He hated incompetents.

"Do you know who you have brought to me?" he asked evenly.

The men looked at each other hesitantly until someone dared say, "The wrong spy?"

"Very well," Stannis snapped. "Let me present you… to my lady grandmother."

The stunned faces the men made were worth remembering but Rhaelle was concerned with something else already: she could say that very soon, she'd have a conversation with Stannis. One that she would not like.

He did not disappoint. As soon as they were alone, he whirled around and snapped, "What has gotten into you? To steal here like a… like a…"

"I was doing my job," she replied. "Just like you do yours. As to stealing here… well, what should I have done? Leave King's Landing under the stag flag? When we don't know how many pirates or worse, Rhaella's supporters are lurking around in these waters? Your men did not tell us whose side they were on before attacking or even later. If they had, I would have come with them gladly."

"I was asking what you're doing here," he repeated with what he likely thought admirable restraints.

With a twinge of concern Rhaelle saw how gaunt he still was, how much deeper the dark bruises under his eyes were. He needed to rest and not capture a castle in this state.

"I am charged with negotiating the terms for the surrender of Dragonstone," she replied and he snorted.

"Has Robert officially lost his bloody mind? Does this look like a stronghold ready to surrender?"

She had to admit that he had the right of it. "No. But this can change. Viserys Targaryen is a child. My niece makes the decisions and I think I can convince her."

He gave her a strange look as he poured some hot wine for both of them. "Drink," he said roughly, pushing the goblet in her hands. "It won't do to have you get ill."

She wrapped her palms around the goblet, gratefully, and shook, only now realizing how cold she had been.

He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face. "I've never heard you speak of any Targaryen as a kin," he finally said and she slowly shook her head.

"No," she said, "I suppose I didn't."

How could she explain that Rhaella had been the exception? Rhaella had been sacrificed on other people's whims and this was worse than Rhaelle's own situation from so long ago. At least, for her, there had been a sound reasoning. Like her, Rhaella had grown up at a court with a grim master, obsessed with the idea of prestige and power, and lack of respect. Rhaelle had gotten a loving marriage at the end while Rhaella's had turned into a nightmare, a fate that the kind, dutiful girl with wide purple eyes did not deserve at all.

They were all dead – Lord Lyonel, her father, Jaehaerys. Aerys would not return to torment Rhaella anymore. The price had been so, so great – but it was over. The bleeding wound in the flesh of the Seven Kingdoms should be sutured as soon as possible. To Rhaelle, there were two things that symbolized such a suture: not rewarding a mass murderer, a murderer of children, and saving Rhaella and her son from the agony of continuing a fight that was doomed.

"Do you really think she has the final word?" Stannis asked. "I mean, she never partook in decision-making, even when Aerys was alive."

"Yes," Rhaelle replied. "I do."

Rhaella surely had the final word. She spoke with her son's voice. There was no one else left. Rhaelle did not particularly grieve either Aerys or Rhaegar but the consequences of their deaths… Even now, after all this time, Rhaelle still had the feeling that she'd wake up in a world where everything was as it should be. A Westeros without a Targaryen ruling it? Impossible!

"What if I refuse to let you go there?" Stannis asked. "It isn't exactly safe, you know."

A smile would not do at all, so Rhaelle kept her face carefully neutral. She had been expecting something like this. She took out the parchment with Robert's seal and saw how Stannis' face became even darker as he read on. Then, he crumpled the parchment into an angry ball. "Has Robert lost his mind?"

"When can you have a ship ready for me?" she asked, instead of answering. "I'd also want the one I came with to be released from custody. And my servants brought to me as soon as possible, of course."

"Of course." His voice grated with the strength of his inner resistance to her plans. He made an exaggerated bow. "Would the Princess like something else?"

"Don't play the jester," she said sharply. "It doesn't suit you."

He did not reply but after a while said reluctantly, "I trust that everyone is well?"

_Do you hope that they are?_ Rhaelle wondered but did not dare ask because he might actually reply and she feared his answer. "Yes," she said and they sat together, an odd wall of distance and things unsaid rising slowly between them.

A few hours later, she disembarked from the boat and passed between a parted wall of armed mean, heading for the castle as if she had never left it. Her gait was sure, her face calm but the first thing she did was sweep a look around without anyone realizing it, an art she had adopted at her mother's knee. No one could say what every man in a crowd would do. The handful of men she had brought with her did not even try to hide their distrust: they formed a tight circle around her.

The day was grey, the sea behind her colourless and unappealing. In a few days, there would be a great storm, perhaps as great as the one that had taken Steffon's life before her eyes. Dark foreboding gripped her even more tightly when she looked at the castle. Its grey was darker than the sea, darker than the rocks… It looked almost black.

The main gate opened and a few men emerged. Reluctantly, Rhaelle's men parted and she saw the newcomers all bowing to her, their leader straight before her. A Darry, if she was not mistaken. "Welcome to Dragonstone, Your Grace," he said heavily.

Strangely, but she felt the same wave of impending doom as she had once felt upon entering Storm's End. Entering the lair of the beast. But she did not show it. "I can't wait to see my niece," she said calmly, wondering if she might be wrong and Rhaella had no authority here. She would not put it past Aerys to have made sure of this. Or if Rhaella had become vengeful and resentful. If she would be free to leave.

The first look at her niece made her gasp. And then, "Do you have a midwife?"

Rhaella only looked at her without bothering to rise from her chair. She looked twice as small as she had when Rhaelle had last seen her, lost under the weight of this bulging belly. And so old. So older than her years. An old woman with child. Rhaelle suppressed a shudder, not because it was so unusual but because everything in her warned that Rhaella was faring worse than she had imagined, that there was no way for this to be a healthy pregnancy, that childbirth would take twice as much from her as this pregnancy was taking…

"I have a maester," Rhaella replied in a tone that showed she was not interested in discussing it further. "Won't you take a seat?"

Rhaelle did. As loathe as she was to admit it, the jerky traveling by sea from King's Landing and then from Stannis' flagship had worn her down. She was an old woman, after all.

Rhaella poured some wine for both of them. Upon taking the goblet, their fingers touched and Rhaelle stiffened, feeling how cold her niece's fingers were. She already bore the touch of the Stranger. Rhaelle immediately drove this thought away.

"Why are you here?" Rhaella asked. "I've already made it clear that I won't surrender. Why did you place yourself in danger and gave us a precious hostage against your grandson?"

Rhaelle shrugged. "Am I this precious?" she asked. "An old woman who has lived her life already? Would you really dishonour your son by holding a negotiator a hostage?"

Rhaelle blushed and looked down. Rhaelle could practically see her thoughts: if she did and such a thing became known, this would be the end of any hopes she might still be holding to gain the Iron Throne back and give it to her son. Her husband and other son had already disgraced themselves and House Targaryen by stomping on all obligations of honour. She could not allow herself to add a trespassing of her own to theirs. "What do you want?" she finally asked.

"To have peace."

Rhaella's eyes glinted, as black and hard as dragonglass. "In other words, you want me to deprive my son from the crown and throw myself at your feet, thanking you for your generosity tear-eyed?"

_The mummer-shows suffered a great loss when she was born in the Red Keep and not a mummer's tent,_ Rhaelle thought. "Just acknowledging Robert's sovereignty would do."

"And why should I do this?" Rhaella demanded. "Give me just one reason!"

Rhaelle did not think twice. "Mace Tyrell bent the knee to Robert."

Her niece's bloated face went white. Her hands gripped the elbow-rests and almost propelled her upright before reason returned. "I don't believe you."

"You'd better do," Rhaelle said calmly. "Because this is the truth. But even if it wasn't, what would it have changed? A single House against a united Westeros. I do love you, Rhaella, and I feel for you. That's why I want to help you: give yourself and your children a chance. Or do you intend to raise them under siege, in starvation, until one or more of your men betrays you?"

"Like Argella Durrandon, you mean?" Rhaella laughed dryly and then immediately started coughing. "What, do you have a lord of Dragonstone waiting to wed me?" she mocked.

Rhaelle did not do her the pleasure to take the bite. "Is this the future you want for your children?" she asked. "Raising them in a siege or on the run, like beggars?"

Rhaella's hand slid down to her belly and Rhaelle absent-mindedly wondered where the boy was. Viserys. The new Targaryen king. A mere child. A little younger than Rhaelle's own age when she had met her own trials. "This one won't be born alive," Rhaella whispered. "They never do. Always, always they die – all but two. One of these two is dead now as well…"

Rhaelle wanted to take her hand, tell her that she understood, for she had also lost an unborn child and a son who had been a man but hesitated. Her love for Rhaella was real but the barrier of what had taken place would always stand between them, the offence that Rhaella had not dealt, the son whom Rhaelle had not killed. There was a divide and they stood on different sides. The Time of Parting, someone from a time long gone spoke in Rhaelle's mind. Her Dornish nursemaid? Or Ser Duncan? They had all had the simple wisdom of common people that could express so many deep truths!

Rhaella looked up and her eyes were black and hard again. "You want me to entrust my children to you and yours?" she asked. "Did you really think I'd ever agree? We both know how you take care of children, don't we?"

Rhaelle blushed. "It wasn't done on my orders and they weren't Robert's either!" she said, angry despite herself. "The one who ordered it will be punished, you have my word."

"Your word," the younger woman said, mockingly serious. "Yes. This is so reassuring. Almost as having them alive, you know."

Rhaelle's good intentions flew out the window. Rhaella could not know it but at this moment, she looked so much like her grandfather and mother when they had been silently shifting the blame for their estrangement onto Rhaelle – after all, they had been trying to close the divide and it was Rhaelle's fault for not appreciating it! "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps you should have discussed it with your son?" she suggested. "You know, the one who left them in King's Landing for Aerys to use without giving them a single man loyal to them? No, he had to take these for his own precious self and his great true love."

Rhaella blushed furiously. "Don't you dare blame this on Rhaegar!"

"Why?" Rhaelle asked. "Lately, I've been wondering if he had not negotiated this with Tywin Lannister in advance. After all, the girl did not want to share Robert – and she did not even love him. Presumably she loved Rhaegar enough to give up everything for him. Would she settle for less?"

This time, Rhaella almost managed to rise. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she screamed and Rhaelle realized that she had not been the only one wondering. All those disappointments had taught Rhaella to always look for the worst scenario possible. She had considered the possibility that her son had coldly planned for the murder of his wife and perhaps even his children… and it had not driven her mad. Admiration rose in Rhaelle as fierce as a dragon breath. What strength! In Rhaella's place, she would have become madder than Aerys.

"Listen," she said. "Let's not dwell in the past. I am not stupid enough to believe we can ever be a big happy family. But I really see no reason why the bloodshed should continue. You may believe that your son is the lawful King but the fact is, no one's going to support him. We both know how our House came to rule. The circumstances have changed. I have no wish to see more blood spilled, especially my own kin's. Surrender, and you'll have a comfortable life arranged for you. If your child is a girl, she'll be married off comfortably."

"To someone vastly inferior to her!" Rhaella exclaimed angrily.

"She will be wed to my own grandson."

That almost made Rhaella pause, then, "So, he'd wait for her for fifteen years? Why, I find this hard to believe!"

"I didn't mean Robert."

"Oh. Of course nor." Rhaella considered. "Look, no one knows if it's going to be a girl child… or if it's going to live at all. I have a living, healthy son. Our king by law. The best you can offer him is the Wall or the Faith. I'm sure that as a mother, these weren't the fates you considered about your own son."

Of course not. "It was different. And any of these two is better than a life on the run, with a target on his back."

Rhaella shuddered and Rhaelle suddenly realized that her own slight trembling was not just from tension and emotion. The walls let drafts in and they moved the tapestries, something that the Valyrian ways of building had prevented for hundreds of years. Was the castle falling into disrepair already? Why not? The entire world had shifted!

Rhaella left the goblet aside. "And if I refuse to surrender?" she asked. "Is Tywin Lannister still going to be punished?"

"Justice doesn't depend on your cooperation," Rhaelle replied in a low voice. "A great injustice took place and this won't change, no matter what you do. I'll do my best to see him punished but I cannot promise anything."

Rhaella nodded, a bitter smile on her lips. At this moment, her resemblance to her grandmother was so striking that Rhaelle's heart skipped a beat. "Politics."

"Yes," Rhaelle admitted. "But he won't be rewarded either, this I promise you."

Rhaella fell silent, deep in consideration. Her aunt could see hope, fear, distrust and all-consuming weariness all playing across her sunken features. Finally, Rhaelle raised her head and the look in her eyes made Rhaelle's blood run cold. Rhaella was still at her part of the divide.

"Leave," her niece said coldly. "Leave and don't come back to entice me. I have no intention to surrender, Lady Baratheon. I don't care who betrayed us. I won't betray my son and his rights. I won't betray this realm by bowing to an usurper. You can't promise me enough to commit such travesty."

Rhaelle rose, slowly and tiredly. She had failed. Like a dog that had been beaten too many times, Rhaella was distrustful of anyone reaching for her leash. "Do you have people to attend you when your time cones?" she asked again. "Do you want me to send you the midwife many use at Storm's End? She has been doing this for thirty years and she has never lost a mother."

Rhaella's eyes told her that she did not care if she'd die. She might even be pleased. But she had responsibilities dictating that she did all she could to stay alive. "Yes. Do send for her. And… thank you."

Rhaelle left with a heavy heart and the feeling that she had lived too long, seen things that she would have never wished to see. But her face remained neutral as she walked out of this most Targaryen fortress, sailed to the flock of ships crowding the sea, told Stannis that the siege was to continue. Like Rhaella, she had been taught to never betray a weakness.

Three days later, the surrender came.

 


	4. Oberyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, it's been a tremendous help!

When Lyanna Stark's son was born, a boy and not the girl she likely had prayed for, Rhaelle smiled, for she had forgotten how to laugh since the day a proud ship was crushed by the storm under Storm's End very walls. And as Robert and Jon Arryn who, to her consternation, seemed to enjoy a progressively growing influence with Robert due to his ability to be a go-between between Robert and Eddard Stark, seemed horrified, Rhaelle thanked the gods because this would split any support Rhaegar's trueborn son might get. With the girl insisting that she was the dead Prince's second wife and true love, it would be easy for anyone to invoke the old stories of Queen Rhaenys, the Conqueror's preferred wife, and the way Aegon had preferred her son in a very obvious way, not unlike Rhaegar's own actions. The Kingsguard had been left with Lady Lyanna and her babe; Elia and hers had been left as unwilling guards to this precious second family of Rhaegar's. In the right hands, it could divide any potential rebellion in two.

And of course, this boy's birth gave the Iron Throne a chance to exercise a better control over both parties who could, in the long run, create problems…

In all honesty, what she feared most was Robert's reaction. He had been obsessed by the girl once. But it turned out that whatever infatuation there had once been had turned to ashes – Rhaelle was actually _relieved_ to realize that at least there was no calculated justice, the intent to cause Lyanna Stark a conscious harm. And while it was Jon Arryn to whom Robert would tell about her idea first, he accepted it without any hesitation. There would be no discussion. For once, Robert's mulishness would be of use!

Of course, she had misjudged just how much of a mule the other main actor in her plan would be…

"Is he still laughing?" Rhaelle was careful to keep the anger out of her voice because both Robert and Jon were on the edge already. But it was so very hard. She could give the man a few hours to rage – in his place, she certainly would have! – but over a day was just too long. And this one was _leaving_ , meaning that keeping him on the right track would be even more of a challenge than keeping Robert on it. At least Robert knew that she had his best interests at heart.

Over a day. How old was he, fifteen?

Jon nodded curtly. She wondered if this was out of anger, or a voice hoarse by talking. In either case, it was better to hear about the situation from him, rather than Robert, because Robert looked unable to speak coherently. "So?"

"Oberyn Martell said that he'd rather be given to Aerys' pyromancers than wedding the girl. When I explained to him that he had been deemed trustworthy because of his connection to Princess Elia, he suggested that we wed his bastard brother to Lady Lyanna. Said Elvar Sand may agree because he was good-natured enough to suffer this punishment without killing the girl – I'm sorry but these were his exact words."

Rhaelle closed her eyes and opened them again. Almost two days, and they were still at the mockery and derision stage. But it was quickly getting clear to her why Robert had always returned to Storm's End unchanged – if Jon Arryn had indulged his pettiness like they both indulged Oberyn Martell's now, it was only to be expected. _He'd grow out of it,_ Jon had probably thought…

Steffon had thought the same once, and Cassana as well. The fact that at the end of their lives, her relationship with them had become strained because of this was a source of neverending grief that had just lost its edge over time. She could not take comfort in the fact that time had proven her right.

Her irritation with Jon Arryn grew once again. She had to find a way to push him out of influence because he was dangerous while he thought he was helping. He had managed to indulge an already indulged boy even more – and if the way he took Oberyn Martell's behavior was any indication, he would keep indulging Robert's fierce temper as her grandson worked himself in an even greater irrationality. The realm needed a man for a king, not a boy in temper.

"I'll talk to him," she finally said, as much out of willingness to help resolving the matter as because it was expected of her. She had been the one to make the suggestion, so now she would have to make it happen. She summoned her memories of her late goodfather to help and asked, "How long has he not slept? When did he last eat?"

Men were so busy being proud of their greater physical endurance that they could never recognize just how vulnerable and reasoning-impaired the lack of sleep and food made them.

Two days without sleep, just a loaf of bread with cheese during the last one. So far, so good. Rhaelle nodded.

* * *

Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne looked just as exhausted as expected. In the brief pause between Lord Grandison rising to bow and her coming close, he had nodded off but when she addressed him, he startled, black eyes shooting daggers at her from between swollen eyelids.

"Is this the best you have to offer?" he jeered at Grandison. "When you men could not convince me, you send women?"

"I'm old enough not to delude myself that I can make any difference even for a man with your passions," Rhaelle said dryly and he paused, jaw working. This was a good start. She nodded at Grandison that he could leave and the man's weariness with the stubborn Dornishman became evident when he headed straight for the door without even asking if she needed a guard, a servant, anything.

Oberyn was rubbing at his eyes, trying to summon his wits back. "Lady Baratheon?" he asked cautiously.

"Ah, you've recognized me."

"And who might this enchanting companion of yours be?" he asked with mocking gallantry, for while Jocelyn was enchanting indeed for her age, she was quite older than Rhaelle.

Rhaelle shrugged. "Some of us like decorum, as unfathomable as the idea might be to you," she said. "I've just had a tea with your sister," she followed on immediately before he could come up with rejoinder.

Oberyn almost jumped out of his chair. "Leave Elia out of this!"

Rhaelle chose a chair and nodded at Jocelyn to do the same. "Gladly," she said. "As soon as we solve this matter. I reckon that you can see it's for her own good? A Lady Lyanna in Dorne, under your family's control is a better option than a Lady Lyanna being wed to someone she could corrupt to her son's interests."

Oberyn snorted. "As if! Who could take a woman like this and her bastard seriously? Who is to say that the child is even Rhaegar's? At Eddard Stark's place, I would have looked for her maidenhood in the hay where each and every stable groom in Winterfell sleeps."

He gave her an expectant look but Rhaelle did not rush to dissuade him. She merely made a show of waiting until it became obvious that he was done. "There are quite a few who would take her seriously. Or I rather have to say, we seriously think that there are quite a few of those and right now, it's our opinion that matters."

He let out an ugly, derisive laugh. "Is this part of your plan to make sure that no one takes House Martell seriously? I mean, if we fall so low as to take Lyanna Stark in our family, who would think our honour and pride are worth more than the banner they're embroidered on? A word in the right ear, and there will be a doubt if my trueborn children are trueborn at all. Not a bad plan, I have to admit. But you can see why I'm refusing to cooperate."

Rhaelle did and disliked what she was doing but for the future of their dynasty and the peace in the realm, House Martell should be rendered unable to deal a blow. Oberyn Martell had gotten her measure right.

"I want to put an end to the enmity," she said. "What a better symbol than the wedding of north and south?"

"Really?" he asked in an icy tone. "Why, then, did you get this idea only after the girl gave birth to a boy?" He squinted his eyes at her and for a moment, there was something like a gloating pleasure there. "Oh I see. You want to severe the ties between Robert and Eddard Stark. Stark is sure to object to his sister being wed to me, of all people, because he'll be afraid that she'll get her just desserts, and Robert will take this as a betrayal from his friend and not just his betrothed. It's a great plan, a great one. I only wonder why you are aiming at such a result."

Rhaelle did not bother with an answer. He trained his eyes at her. "I'll get to the bottom of this," he promised.

She thought he would but she did not care. It mattered not at all.

"I believe Elia's position as Robert's queen will be more secure if there's no chance for Lady Lyanna and her son to be used against Elia's own children… by Rhaegar or Robert. There are still these who mourn for their beautiful prince who died for his true love."

"And I'm expected to wed this true love! And seen the same ugly way they see my sister. I really admire your bravery, my lady. It takes a lot to keep pushing for a marriage of our new King to a woman whose family you insist on pushing down."

Despite her determination to not let him provoke her, Rhaelle felt a flash of anger. Such short-sightedness! Really, she had the feeling that she was arguing with Robert… She stole a look at Jocelyn and her goodsister shook her head, indicating that she should not give up to irritation. "It would have been true if we insisted on getting Lady Lyanna wed to your brother. Forgive me for saying so, but you're only a second son, insignificant even now and even more insignificant in a few months when Lady Mellario gives your brother another heir. There's going to be a scandal, some talks for a year or two, and then it'll be all forgotten and even seen as another peculiarity of yours while Lady Lyanna's dowry will still sit in the coffers of Sunspear. You can't tell me that you care how the world perceives you."

"I care how my children will be perceived. And the second son of a great House is far more than this girl deserves – do I have to tell you what she deserves?"

"Go on," Rhaelle said and somewhat to her surprise, he did, making her gasp and blush, and then scold herself mentally for falling for his trap.

"So, let's clarify this," she said because she could see that this was getting nowhere. They did not have this much time to waste. Once Lyanna Stark became more amenable and forced to accept reality, Ned Stark would find it easier to find her a husband – and Rhaelle was determined that this choice should be the Baratheons' alone. She would have any romantic fondness of Rhaegar and the child of his love wife neutralized by placing them into the hands of Elia Martell's family under the guise of healing wounds. "We offer you the chance to neutralize the greatest danger to your sister. We offer you the chance to form her children's potential rival as your creature, as well as the gratification of knowing that she has Lady Lyanna under her thumb – and don't say it'll be yours because we both know it's the same. We're adding a rich dowry and the chance for Elia to see her children from time to time which was not on the initial plan. You still say no."

"You didn't mention anything about Elia being allowed to see the children more," he said quickly.

"Didn't I?" Rhaelle asked, although of course she had not mentioned it. She saw his face and schooled her own into an expressionless politeness while inside, she was smiling with content. _There's no refusing this, Oberyn Martell. I've got you, I've got you, I've got you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again! Something that I wrote for another fic yesterday nagged at me and turned into an idea. Now, I have the idea of a whole new story... Arggggg!


	5. Jon Arryn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the long delay. I think I'm back on track now, or almost, at least.

The walls of the Red Keep had heard much, from the moans of the masons killed by Maegor the Cruel through the harsh words exchanged by men at a Great Council and the moanings of hundreds of people at once when the Great Spring Sickness had raised its scythe to mow down king and groom alike and the groans of the wounded brought from the battlefield to die at home. Rhaelle vividly remembered the clash of blades during the fateful single combat of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the rebellious Lord of the Stormslands. It echoed in her memory with the erratic power the Seven so often granted to those who shaped the future of a land. A continent.

These walls had heard Rhaella's screams as well, many times, and yet Rhaelle did not think her niece had ever sounded so desperate and fierce as now her body tensed and relaxed in the torturous attempt to get rid of the burden tormenting it. The entire birthing chamber smelled of blood, urine, and feces and the windows could not expel the stench fast enough; when one of the midwives tried to burn some herbs in the fire to at least replace the miasma with a more palatable aroma, Rhaelle glared at her in such a manner that the woman reconsidered without a word. The old woman bathed her niece's face once again and left the cloth over it to give her some relief. The light was fading; right now, in the brief moment before the lighting of candles, Rhaelle could not see the dark bruises Rhaella's fingers had left on hers as her niece had clung to her hands in agony.

Rhaelle could feel the entire world behind the door holding its breath. Would Rhaella give birth to a boy, another heir who many would feel cruel to see removed from his mother? Robert wore the crown now but Rhaelle preferred not to see a boy being born, just because she knew what trouble a living claimant could cause. The Blackfyre Rebellions had ended in her lifetime… She hated the thought of depriving Rhaella of another child after Viserys' leaving but the world would attach such great importance to the child… if it was male.

Of course, Rhaella needed to make it out alive first… This was her fourth day of labour and lack of sleep and Rhaelle thought the younger woman might die of sheer exhaustion. Even when the maester of Storm's End tugged the child – a girl, a lovely girl, blessed be the Seven – out of the nearly comatose mother, the first thing he did, even before waiting for the afterbirth to come out, was to wrap a cold cloth around her to keep her awake. Once drifting into sleep, Rhaella might never wake up…

When she did, everyone came to know about it.

* * *

Rhaelle entered the throne room, feeling as old as the world; the moment she set eyes on the three men inside, she bristled up and her spine became even more erect than usual. A maidservant with a carafe in her hands almost spilled the wine in her hurry to get out of the old lady's way. Rhaelle noticed that Robert and Jon Arryn looked at each other in alarm. Naturally, Tywin Lannister did not. Even as a child, he had been one of the few people who cared not for her esteem. This fact had used to only annoy her but now, after everything that he had done, it looked beyond indecent – he did not care what the world thought about him. In his own mind, he should be _rewarded_.

She went past him, smiling strainedly at Robert and nodding at Arryn, just to emphasize her indifference to Tywin's presence anyway. The slight nervousness in her grandson's manner told her that he was not comfortable with the situation either.

By the Seven, had they sealed the deal already? While she had been too busy with Rhaella these last weeks – had they brokered the marriage? The daughter of a murderer like Tywin, a girl who enjoyed the caresses of her own brother – was she to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the confirmation before the entire world that Robert had wished and rewarded the murder of a woman and two babes, the sacking of an entire city – his now capital? _No,_ Rhaelle told herself and ordered the blood to stop roaring in her ears. _No. Ser Jaime would not let such a thing happen without warning me. He knows that I will give them away without thinking twice_.

"I was told it is a girl," Robert said at last as Rhaelle was still wondering what to say and if she should say something at all.

She glanced at him. "This sounds like a family conversation," she said. "And, well…?"

"Jon is staying," Robert said immediately, his face darkening. "He is family."

She waited with her heart in her mouth but he said no such thing about the other guest. Even Tywin Lannister could do nothing in the face of such explicit silence, or perhaps he felt that if he did not leave on his own will, he'd be dismissed by the King. Rhaelle hoped it was the second but with Tywin, one could never say. His impassive face as he made his bow could well mean that he felt Rhaelle could do nothing to endanger the bargain he had already been promised.

"So?" Robert asked after a while.

"They're both fine," Rhaelle said. "Rhaella and her daughter. I hope you remember what you promised her? That you'd treat her children as well as you know, including this one."

Her grandson waved an impatient hand. "Of course I will! I promised her a comfortable life out of court – and that's exactly what she's going to get. What do you think I am – murderer of children? What do you think I am going to do?"

"No, of course not," Rhaelle replied coolly. "You're no murderer of babes. You just consort with such people."

It was now his time to bristle with anger but he managed to regain self-possession soon enough. "Why was she screaming?" he asked. "A little while ago."

Rhaelle sighed. "It was an oversight of outs," she said. "When she woke up and did not see the babe, she assumed it was dead like most of her others. She isn't going to let us tend the newborn away from her – she wants her constantly close by."

Robert shuddered. "Poor woman. But the little one is healthy, is she not?"

"Do you care?" Rhaelle asked. "For real? Or are you going to reward a maidservant who puts a pillow over her face at night?"

"Stop it." Robert's voice had the calm quality of a wind right before the storm. "Stop it right away, do you hear me, my lady? I did not wish for Elia Martell and her children's deaths and I certainly did not order them.""

"But you're about to reward the one who did with a royal match, aren't you?" Rhaelle countered, feeling that they were stepping on an old road they had trodden upon often enough but she did not know how to change tacks and retrace her steps, so she could actually reach the end. Pressure and delicate attempts to set Robert straight had not led to anything, so she now decided, all of a sudden, to abandon them. Instead, she turned straight to Jon Arryn.

"My lord, I know you're looking at this from the practical side – but won't you think how it's going to go with our allies? A marriage to reward someone who did nothing to help us and only sacked a city and committed murders of three people who should have been protected by the virtue of being both defenseless and so high in rank when so many of the men who fought for and with us have daughters who would be far better fits for queens by the merits of their Houses? We'll become known as the House Who Cheated Its Allies."

He blinked, surprised by her outspokenness. Until now, they had only conversed through Robert's intercession, tugging him his way and hers, and he was not prepared to meet her questions face to face. Well, so was she.

"The idea of this queenship disgusts me as much as it does you, my lady," he finally said. "But Lord Lannister is too strong for us. He's the only one whose armies are unharmed and fresh. We cannot beat him without paying dearly right now if it comes to this."

"When it comes to this, it won't be _now_ ," Rhaelle countered and sipped from her goblet to compose herself. "Time will have passed. He won't dare try anything now and honestly, if he does, our allies would be only too happy to punish him for his audacity. I don't want a Lannister as Robert's Queen, Lord Arryn. If we do this, if we show the world that this is our way, we'll never be able to get rid of the stain. House Baratheon's reign will start with this huge blot upon its honour. _As High as Honour_ , was it?"

He looked down but Rhaelle noticed his angry blush. As practical and cool-headed as he was, Jon Arryn did care about honour. Perhaps he truly hated their predicament, although not with Rhaelle's fierceness. Still, his emotion was intense enough to make his breathing hard.

Robert glared at her. "Leave Jon alone," he snapped. "He isn't to blame for the madness your Targaryen kin threw us into and I won't let you hector him as if he's one of the servants at your father's court."

Rhaelle went numb with shock. She knew about his hatred for the Targaryens, of course – who did not? – but he had never used her lineage against her, not even when she had attacked his hesitation at punishing Tywin Lannister immediately and accordingly. As much as he disliked this fact, he knew that he was also descended from the Targaryens and in his grandmother's presence, at least, had held his mouth closed. Somewhat.

Even in his rages, he would never insult her for his own sake. Just for the sake of the ones he held dear – Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark and no one else. Rhaelle bitterly wondered if he'd ever do such a thing for his own brothers. She tried to stare him down but he did not give up. He did not even look ashamed.

* * *

Save for the first ten years or so of her life, Rhaelle had done her best to place as great a distance between herself and her kin that she hated any moment when she realized that she had inherited some of their traits – and their flaws, in particular! Age had not reduced the uneasiness and discontent, although it had taken off some of their sharp edge – to some extent. Once, she would have paced around her solar; now, she only started moving her needle with greater speed but lesser efficiency and a good deal more pricks and jabs in her fingers.

"So, you have heard something new? Something not to your liking?"

Rhaelle glanced at her goodsister and nodded at her to come in. "Yes, kind of. Nothing to worry about." She gave Jocelyn a curious look. "How could you tell? You barely entered."

Dowager Lady Penrose smiled. "Your manner of sewing always betrays you," she said. "What you're doing now is equal to a man roaring in fury."

Since Jocelyn had a wealth of experience with men of fury, Rhaelle did not bother to protest or deny. "I thought I could turn Robert's mind the right way," she said. "With patience and tact. But it isn't going to happen. Where Arryn is concerned, this grandson of mine is steadier than Storm's End. I wasted a lot of time trying to change his heart about Tywin – and a word Robert took as harassing Jon Arryn was all it took to ruin everything that I have achieved. There is no way to sidestep Arryn and show Robert the right way."

Jocelyn raised a dark eyebrown. "Unless, of course, something forces Arryn to leave court," she suggested. "Some unrest in the Vale, perhaps… But I suppose you would not do anything to create such unrest or feed it?"

Rhaelle shook her head. She did not need to think twice. "No, this is something that I won't do," she said. But she knew she could hardly convince Arryn to see things her way, so… His honour was not this inflexible…

The beginning of an idea glimmered in her mind and she immediately sent for the captain of House Baratheon's personal guard. The notion that she might be taking a risk did not cross her mind at all. Robert might still be the formal Lord of Storm's End and Stannis, all but the new lord, in waiting to receive the title formally, but Ser Eron had followed Rhaelle's orders for decades. Going to Robert was something that he would never consider… and his dissatisfaction at hearing his last orders made it clear. He was only concerned with the hardships before him and the lack of time.

"My lady, forgive me but you want a miracle! I cannot possibly gather any useful information in so short a time!"

"Ser Eron, you must… or else, the information will be useless. I have to know everything important that has happened in Lord Arryn's life and the lives of those close to him in the last, say, five years. And I need this information…" She hesitated.

"Yesterday," Jocelyn helped her and when the captain left, she gave her a long look. "Are you trying to find something to blackmail Arryn with?" she asked. "Do you think it wise?"

"Of course not," Rhaelle replied impatiently. "I am not about to blackmail anyone."

But she could not explain, even to herself, what she was going to do with the information, once she got it.

 


End file.
